


The Fallout

by Getti (Epsy)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternative title: The Slow Breakdown of Edward Elric's Tragic Engagement, But he keeps trying to do the right thing, But it's just not going to work out, Chapter one is sad but it gets more hopeful as it goes, Does not contain cheating but it's kind of a big ass grey area, Ed's fiance is someone I'd want to be friends with, Ed's marriage is falling apart and they haven't even reached the church yet, F/M, M/M, Roy is a mess, RoyEd Week, Since when has that worked out for you Roy?, mainly because this is a royed fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-20 13:04:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11921493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epsy/pseuds/Getti
Summary: There are certain facts in the universe that simply cannot be argued with. What goes up must come down. War has no winners. The Emperor of Xing can clear a feast table in under thirty minutes.Roy Mustang is in love with Edward Elric.Just a small fact. Easily pushed aside in the hustle and bustle of daily life, and certainly not important enough to warrant any attention. But when Ed returns to the city with a brand new fiance and too many demons, it becomes a fact that Roy can no longer ignore, and he is deeply displeased by that.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Alex for betaing <3 Happy Royed week everyone.

When Edward had come back from Creta with a beautiful girl on his arm, talking circles around him and charmingly frank, no one was particularly surprised. If anyone had asked, Roy would have told them he'd seen it coming ever since the two brothers had got on the train back to Risembool.

Well, perhaps not 'seen' it coming, given that he'd been somewhat visually incapacitated at the time. But he'd retained his powers of logical prediction, and they were accurate as ever.

He had visited Risembool a handful of times. The Elrics' latest contribution to the country was a high-speed rail line ("so there's no excuse for never visiting," Alphonse had insisted) that took only a day to get from Central to the outer reaches of the East. Each time he arrived Alphonse had grown, each time Edward's grin was wider and easier. He didn't miss the way that Winry Rockbell always stood just behind Alphonse's chair, or the sudden pronoun change from 'I' to 'we' between the two of them. He also observed, keenly, Ed's struggle to allow them both time to themselves. 

The last time he'd been there, Ed had expressed (in as few words as possible and with much shrugging of two tanned shoulders) his bittersweet happy-sadness at seeing Al growing into his own person. Separate. Independent. 

And Roy had told him to get out and forge a new path. And Ed had gone to Creta. And Ed, finally free of the manacles of his guilt, had fallen in love. 

Roy buries his hand deeper into his pocket, startled out of his reverie by the shrill whistle of a Johnson & Elric steam train chugging into East City station. A glance to each side reveals no one caught his slip, but he schools his face to stony confidence anyway. Technically he's receiving distinguished guests of the newly-formed Cabinet Office. However, having seen them both inhale barbecue ribs with enough gusto to get sauce in their hair, Roy simply can't associate 'distinguished' with 'Elrics'. And so, what with the bustle of organising a new government occupying most of his staff, Roy has come alone.

The train rumbles to a stop. Doors are flung open and people emerge in a flood of life and colour, passing him with breezy disconcern. As they clear, Roy focuses his newly-restored eyes further down the platform. They land on Ed first. As ever.

He walks with a confident grace; one suitcase on his shoulder and another gripped tightly in his unscarred right hand. The black waistcoat and slacks are almost a disappointment after years of that striking red coat, but they suit him in an adult way. His hair is the same whip of gold behind him. 

Roy catches the smile before it can form properly on his face, and morphs it into a smirk. He hasn't honed his skills for nothing, after all. 

Alphonse is a grin wearing a human being. His arms are inundated with hat boxes, and he's talking animatedly about things Roy is too far away to hear. He's getting taller than Ed, and still has further to grow, too. Roy's brain is already whirring away working on quips to make about that little development. 

Behind the two of them, Winry Rockbell is as serenely beautiful as ever. Her suitcase is small and sturdy, and she's laughing genuinely at a comment made by the one person the whole world seems to be asking about.

Cassandra Barnes. Twenty two. Born in Milos but migrated to Creta, now with Cretan citizenship. 

"Mustang!" The call cuts through him, a hot knife through butter. Distinguished, not at all nervous butter.

"Edward. Alphonse. Welcome back to East City." Roy keeps his voice level and clear. Golden eyes flick up and down him, and he feels a moment of concern despite having checked the mirror a good ten times before leaving the house. 

"You just don't really change, do you?" The suitcase is shifted. There's no space for a handshake; not that Ed has ever deigned to offer him one before. Roy tucks his hand into his pocket and cants a hip instead.

"Perhaps not. You all seem to have returned to full health, though." Full, tan, golden health, with the soft smiles of the contented. It looks good on them. Everything looks good these days. Roy's blood pressure rises every day waiting for this hard-won peace to shatter. He tries with limited success not to think about that too much. "Alphonse has outgrown you."

Ed visibly winces, but doesn't immediately go for Roy's throat. It's the little things that mark him as an adult, in the end.

"Fuck that. I'm due another growth spurt soon." Ed pouts.

"We know. You won't let us forget, after all," Winry hums at him. "General, it's good to see you."

"The pleasure, as always, is mine, Miss Rockbell. And you must be Miss Barnes." Roy turns his best knee-weakening smile on the newest addition to the ragtag family. "Edward didn't mention your outstanding beauty. I rather think I should have been warned."

Cassandra Barnes grins widely instead of blushing, side-eyeing Ed and tucking some ruddy brown hair behind her ear. Ed colours hotly.

"O-oi Mustang don't flirt with my fucking girlfriend!" Ed is blustering, but he hasn't punched Roy in the gut yet, so he must be taking it as lightly as intended.

"Ed never mentioned during his long and rambling tirades that his superior officer was such a gentleman, either, so I suppose we're even. He always was oblivious to that sort of thing," Cassandra grins. Ed looks between them with something like panic on his face. He evidently had never considered that his once-commanding officer and leading lady could get along. Certainly not that they might bond over exasperating _him_. He steps closer to Alphonse, who simply smiles serenely. 

"Well then," Al cuts in, "I would like to put these hat boxes down so that I can actually shake your hand. Is there a car?"

"Of course. Follow me, if you will. It's good to have you back." Roy offers an arm to Cassandra, who takes it chirpily, and turns them towards the exit. 

'Good', as it turns out, is a somewhat optimistic description of the Elrics' return. The rolling in Roy's gut should honestly have tipped him off, but he always has been good at walking right into the lion’s den.

\---

Roy attends the opening of Winry's city-based automail shop primarily because he has to, and certainly not because he is unable to refuse a night in Ed's company. There have been many of those, and each one winds him a little tighter. Everything is under control, however. Roy is a man grown, a survivor of personal and literal demons, and he can wrestle his emotions into their proper places, he's sure. 

And if everything starts to fall apart, he's found that talking to Cassie is a great way to ground himself. Listening to her light up about rune theory or material substitutions or the appropriate shoes for an East City summer endears her to him more and more, and tosses a few more logs on his inner fire of self-hatred.

"May I take your coat?" Offers Alphonse. 

Roy stretches out a tight little smile, and hands his coat over. 

"Thank you. How are you settling in?"

"Very well. I think the city is good for all of us. I haven't seen Brother so animated for months." There’s a pause as Alphonse openly studies him. They are both aware that Roy did not specifically ask after Edward. Roy becomes marble, becomes chalk, becomes smoke. 

"That's good. I couldn't imagine you all out in Risembool with the cows."

"Not enough books." Al waves a hand.

"Not enough food." Roy grins. Alphonse grins back. His eyes strip Roy to the bone, so Roy takes the coward's route and changes the subject. "Speaking of which, something smells delicious."

"Come and get some champagne."

Roy isn't surprised to find most things unpacked, curtains hung, with a spotless dining room laid out for eight people. Gracia is already there, glass of champagne curled gently in one hand. Elysia gets up to give him a hug, and he hopes she never grows out of that instant, affectionate reaction to him that reminds him so much of Maes. He lifts her up, all gangly legs under her skirt. She's lengthening into a teenager but he'll lift her for as long as she'll let him. 

"I got a haircut Roy!" She babbles. So she has. it frames her face and makes her look like her mother, and Hughes would have loved that, and lord this is a bad night for Roy to suddenly start feeling things. 

Al hands him some champagne. Roy does not drink it. 

"Ugh, Al you don't have to invite every single person we know-"

"It's mine and Winry's party, Brother, and we'll invite whomever we like."

"Good evening, Fullmetal."

"Stop calling me that!"

Roy works up the courage to turn. He's levelled cities and destroyed immortal beings, but nothing makes him quake quite like looking into Ed's eyes and seeing the barely-contained rage there. 

Awareness and warmth bubbles up inside every single one of Roy's veins. Ed, as a stark contrast to Roy’s molten innards, only looks irritated.

"Are you going to start calling me Roy?" Roy counters, cocking an eyebrow. Alphonse stops fiddling with the record player in the corner, and watches them both warily. The inside of Roy's mouth is drier than any desert that he's ever burned. 

"Sure, when you're not being Bastard, then you can be Roy. Anything is better than 'General', anyway." Ed waves him off, and Roy smirks flatly. That would be a no. Honestly he should feel more relieved than he does. He should feel anything except a little giddy at having heard his name drop from Ed's lips.

Food comes out, rustic and wonderful. Alphonse dances Winry round the table. Cassie and Ed share a smug look, conspiring. Roy folds his napkin, and again, and again. 

"How is life at HQ?" Winry asks.

"Busy, very busy. But moving in directions I hope you'd approve of."

"We're lucky that you can make time for us." Winry smiles wide, and isn't that strange? That she seems to value having him in her home. He's sinking. He shouldn't be here. He's a scaffold of manners and phatic talk, and it's going to topple if anyone looks too closely. Roy asks how they've found living in their new, state-appointed apartments. 

"Whatever, it's fine. Don’t talk as if you didn't make Havoc find it, lazy ass." Ed throws the comment out carelessly. Roy did not, in fact, make Havoc find it. Roy wouldn't let him even make a suggestion. He'd hunted through the listings himself on the pretence of professionalism and stopped by to view each one on his lunch break, because he's a stain of a man.

“It’s beautiful, Roy. Thank you so much. We adore it already.” Cassie immediately calls him Roy. She's gregarious enough to make him think of Maes. Everything makes him think of Maes. Why isn't he here?

The champagne is looking tempting, even at room temperature and almost bubbled-out. There's a slim, slim chance that Roy could get away with leaving if he fakes an emergency with enough zeal. The likelihood of the Elrics inviting themselves along to help fix it is too high to risk that, though. He knows better. But it's an option that only grows in appeal with every new conversation.

Al and Gracia head to the kitchen to clean up. Winry and Cassie settle down to set up some furniture for the new apartment. Ed and Roy are left to bicker in the tiny back garden. 

"Thanks. For helping with the move. It's weird to admit, but you're pretty okay when I don't have to write useless reports for you." Edward tips his drink towards Roy in a sophisticated motion that takes Roy by surprise. 

"And you are infinitely more tolerable when your authority complex doesn't have you biting at my metaphorical ankles."

"I'll kick your metaphorical ass."

"Such eloquence."

"Asshole."

"Wretch."

Roy turns the conversation to the latest, and completely incorrect, alchemic journal publication just to keep Ed out in the garden with him for as long as possible. He hates himself, but he still doesn’t remind Ed that they should probably go back in and speak with the others, not even when the stars come out.

\-----

Roy spoils them. It’s been so long since anyone let him host properly, and he does love to entertain.

He introduces them all to the fine people at the Regalia club. Around them is a sea of cocktail dresses and black tie, and Roy is surprised from his contemplation of Ed in his tailored jacket by Cassie arguing eloquently in favour of a publicly funded alchemy program. She lays out each point with devastating finesse, and lays several generals out flat with no chance of rebuttal, too. She encompasses the modern woman with her billowing black trousers worn high at her slim waist, and delicately heeled shoes. He thinks with some chagrin that the Madam would probably adore her.

Honestly, Roy himself is charmed. If she wasn’t engaged to Edward, Roy would say she would be wasted on any man. As it is, they’re somewhat of a golden pair.

Ed quickly tires of socialising, and Roy fluffs up like a bird when he is the port Ed chooses to weather this particular social storm. He mooches in Roy’s direction, looking at him with sparing glances. Roy can tell Ed is puzzling out when it would no longer be rude to dive in and steal Roy from his current conversation. A few years back, he would have simply marched in and demanded Roy’s attention. Roy wonders if this new, delicate touch is a result of Cassie or Alphonse’s influence.

In the end, he saves Ed the trouble.

Excusing himself, Roy slips over to where Ed is loitering over a portrait of a fuhrer past. Roy ambles to a stop beside him, hand in one pocket and stance cocky.

“Didn’t take you for an art man, Fullmetal.”

Ed scrunches up his nose. “I’m not. It’s just easier to look at this guy’s ugly face than listen to any of the stupid stuff the people here have to say.”

Roy hums thoughtfully. He takes a sip of his drink and tries not to smile, knowing that Ed will take it personally.

“They are _my_ friends, after all. I’m not surprised you don’t get along with them.”

“But me and you get along just fine. Are these guys really your friends? You never talked about anyone outside the team before.” Ed turns his back on the portrait. “Except when you wanted to boast about your dates.”

“A lot of the people here are allies, I suppose. Reformers. We hold similar views on how to best lead the people of this country.” Roy does attend a lot of social functions with the people here, and his genteel nature allows him to blend in with their aristocratic backgrounds. But he supposes he doesn’t have the same friendship with anyone here that he does with Riza and his team.

“Politicians,” Ed says, like there’s coal in his mouth. Roy laughs.

“Yes. Politicians. But they do put on some fine parties. How about we take a walk in the garden, and you can tell me all about how Alphonse is doing?” Roy is playing dirty now. Ed is always eager to show off about Al, half proud mother and half excited best friend. Roy should probably feel ashamed at using Al for his own ends. But.

No. There’s no real excuse.

“Sure,” Ed shrugs. “This place blows, anyway.”

“Is that Elric language for ‘I already finished all the shrimp’?”

“Yeah, basically.“ Ed isn’t even slightly ashamed. Roy loves that about him.

Outside the party, the night is balmy. Summer is well and truly on its way, and in the evening warmth all the scents of the garden rise to meet them. The terrace is lit by lanterns evenly spaced along the veranda, outlined by slender pillars twined with wisteria. Roy trails his gloves across some of the flowers as he walks. They shudder at his touch but do not fall, swaying like bells.

“He keeps a whole box of blankets in the den and he won’t let me get rid of any even though he keeps buying more. He says they all 'feel' different, and I just don’t have the heart to argue with him. I mean, who could? When he pulls that face he does, it’s not really fair. So anyway, we’re drowning in fancy blanket things now and he’s stuck between making space for those or for books. I’m glad to have my own place now, in some ways.”  
Ed chooses where they stop. He has a sense of aesthetic that comes out every now and again, like he can only allow himself to do it subconsciously. Despite his own admission that he doesn’t always have ‘taste’ in the traditional sense (“just because my taste is better than everyone else’s doesn’t mean I don’t have any, asshole”) Ed always manages to position himself just so, light soft and pleasingly framed. At first, Roy had thought it was his own bias talking; Ed somehow managing to look like a Renaissance painting could be a side effect of a disgusting amount of sap, after all. But when he paid attention, it became clear that Ed finds a sense of calm in a well-balanced space. Even now he’s found the best spot for watching the last bright tones of the sunset, silhouetting the curling vines and the garden arches in the distance.

Maes would take a picture. Roy merely commits the sight to memory.

“Only in some ways?” Roy echoes.

“…I think if I had my way, I’d have a big house with Al and split it down the middle. I know that’s dumb. And we’re not going to do it. But I think I’d be happiest like that.” Ed has very neatly boxed up things that make him happy, and things that make him sad. ”I put it on my list, but ended up crossing it out.”

The list was something small Roy had suggested after receiving a letter from Edward in the autumn. He’d read through the shallow report of life in Risembool and Alphonse’s engagement to Winry, and correctly deduced that Ed was fretting about the direction his life was heading in. Roy’s inspired suggestion had been for Ed to make a list of the concrete things in life that he wanted, and to work towards each one in turn.

It was a simple formula handed to him by Maes after Ishval. One that Roy highly suspects was invented by Gracia, in all her wisdom.

“Why did you take it off the list?” Roy asks, tone casual. He leans against the balustrade and half wishes Ed would notice how Roy’s skin glows in the twilight.

Ed shrugs, “It’s just not practical. He has a life to live, and I’m supposed to be living mine, too.”

“You _are_ living yours,” Roy corrects. Ed just turns away to lean his arms on the balcony railing.

“Sometimes you have to compromise on stuff, I guess.”

That’s not right. That’s the opposite of Edward Elric, who has absolutely never compromised on anything as long as Roy has known about his existence.

“Hello, boys,” comes a warm voice from behind them. Roy turns with a half bow.

“Cassandra,” he greets. She smiles wide and moves to take Ed’s hand. The angry set of his shoulders clearly isn’t lost on her. “Please, call me Cassie. From how much Ed talks about you, I know we’ll keep seeing a lot of each other.”

Roy raises an eyebrow in Ed’s direction. He receives a scowl.

“I complain about you a lot. Don’t misunderstand.” But there’s an edge of a smile tugging at the corner of Ed’s mouth, and Roy feels warm to know they’ve progressed into some strange kind of friendship after everything. _Despite_ everything.

They’re both stubborn that way, he supposes.

Cassie stands very close to Ed, and it takes Ed a good thirty seconds for him to realise he should put his arm around her. She smiles fondly when he does. Roy’s heart is hollow and full of acid, but part of him is happy that she has patience with him, and seemingly understands how his brilliant mind thinks differently to most people. Ed looks pleased as punch to pull her close. Roy clears his throat. 

“I think I’ll leave you two to enjoy the lovely view. It’s a romantic night.”

It is. Roy would have brought any number of people out here to woo them. He’d brought Ed, which was hideous behaviour, and ridiculous in that Ed would never have clocked the romance anyway.

Ed goes red. Maybe Roy is wrong, and Ed has realised after all. Gold eyes bore into Roy’s skull. Roy paints on a smooth smile and raises a glass. 

“Goodnight, lovebirds.”

That night he goes home early. He drinks out of habit, and then more out of self loathing. He doesn’t have to explain the smashed whiskey glass on the tile in the morning, because his house is empty, as always. 

\---

The apartment is neat and classy, Roy made sure of that when he picked it. And of course he knows exactly where it is, so when he receives an invitation, he knows the route instinctively. He buys flowers mainly because he knows they will make Ed angry. The wine is a genuine gift, however. A good vintage. The kind they can keep for an anniversary if things go well. It's cold against his palm as he heads up the familiar stairs.

The shouting, he initially assumes, is from another apartment. He doesn't know why he leaps to that conclusion; his mind just glosses over and jumps the gun, basing itself on Roy's forced belief that these two young people were made for each other. The chanted mantra that they deserve one another, were cast in the same mould, has sunk in thanks to his own diligent repetition. Unfortunately, this means he presses the doorbell before he can process that the argument is happening inside the apartment. 

"It's just a few days, Cassie-"

"Over our _honeymoon_ ."

"We can move it. It's not...look, this is the only time I can do this. It's not like the moon is going to wait for our honeymoon to finish-"

"And what happens when it doesn't work? Do you come back to me, cuts on your face, refusing to talk, to lock yourself in your room for a fortnight? Do I go and fetch Alphonse again to force you back into reality, make you eat? Every time you promise you're done, Edward, and every time it's a lie. I can't keep doing this. I can't deal with you disappearing into the ether without a word and coming back so torn to pieces."

"I'm sorry, I'm _sorry,_ I don't mean to lie- I mean it when I say it. But I need to get this back, I need to be useful again, Cassie. Al would understand, he can explain it better-"

"Then why don't you go and marry Al?" Her voice is loud and clear. Roy should force himself to leave the door, and walk back down the stairs. He shouldn't be intruding on this private moment. "The two of you are only good for each other! I don't know how Winry can stand it. Don't you dare answer that door, Edward Elric! We are finishing this conversation!"

Roy snaps to attention and turns swiftly on his heel. It was stupid of him to have stayed. About as stupid as most of his decisions regarding Ed, in the end. 

"It's Mustang, and I invited him, and he's probably already heard all the dramatics so we might as well let the bastard in and calm down." The door is ripped open behind him. "Mustang?" Ed asks the corridor. Roy is silent for a beat. He could continue quietly down the stairs, and pretend he already left. He could leave Ed to lie in this bed he's made for himself. But he can't walk away from that note of desperation in Ed's tone. He could never leave Ed when he was truly hurting; could never shut his big foolish mouth. He sighs without turning.

"Fullmetal. I'm sorry, I can come back another time."

"No, please. It's...we need something. To stop it. Can you come in?"

The very last place on the entire continent that Roy wants to be is in that apartment. 

"Of course."

Ed is the embodiment of a slump when Roy ascends the stairs again. His hair is down, and the smudged bags under his eyes are pronounced. He must have just woken up. Roy thinks he was probably reading into the night again, since some things never change. 

Cassie casts shadowed eyes over him as he enters. Her cheeks are flushed, but she's composed. He doesn't expect anything less from her. 

"Hello Cassie. Sorry to intrude."

"No, no, you were asked to come. It's not your fault." She flicks a sharp little look at Ed, but he's already busying himself with clearing the coffee table. Resisting a heavy sigh, Roy walks to her and places a palm on her elbow. Some of the tension leaves her, and she brings a hand to her forehead. 

"I brought carnations, since they're your favourites, but I think the wine might help more at this point," Roy says. Cassie manages a watery grin for him. 

"I think you might be right. Come on, let's get those into some water." 

They leave Ed in the living room. Roy knows from experience that given about four minutes of silence, Ed will be crushed by the guilt, and that clever little brain will be racing for a way to make it up, to make it right. Cassie pulls a rustic looking jug from a top shelf and starts to fill it with water. Her brown curls dance on her shoulders as she moves.

"I know I'm being selfish." She says quietly. Roy stands beside her, pulling down three glasses and shutting up his heart in an iron box. "I know it's a part of him...who he is. But every time he leaves, he comes back worse. More defeated. I'm worried out of my mind. Did he tell you he broke his arm? And there's this gash down his back, Roy, it won't heal. He just goes, silently, with a sweet note on the dresser and a half-empty bag. Al had to take leave, last time, to look after him. Ed just doesn't let me near him when he's like that. He-" She chokes on a dry sob, placing one hand delicately over her mouth. 

"He's an idiot,." Roy says slowly. Cassie barks a laugh. "But he loves you. And he grew up almost completely alone, chasing impossibilities down some very dark rabbit holes. It's going to be exceedingly difficult for him to change, and adapt to a slower pace of life."

"I know that. No really, I do. I didn't come into this trying to change him, or trying to save him. I just...fell, as they say. I fell for him. But I don't think he ever really fell for me. Not the same way. He isn't willing to commit to our life together. He drops it like a hot brick to chase the life he used to have, the one he says he regrets." He wraps an arm around her shoulder for a moment, and she leans on him. "Am I just supposed to sit here and wait for him? I'm my own person. I can't waste my life doing that."

Roy has nothing for her. He's committed himself to one woman only in his life: his country. How do two people share an existence? He's not really sure. He's almost glad for that ignorance. 

"Come on. Maybe some of what you've said will have sunk in now. You can think about it, let it settle in your mind. Do you want me to go in first?" 

"No, no I'm fine. You grab the glasses. Let's go before he gets so upset with himself that he leaves the house altogether." 

The living room is a mess of wedding paraphernalia, with invites on the dining room table and Cassie's dress hanging carefully from a picture hook. In the centre of the mess is a small figure. Ed has curled inwards on himself, like a dying spider. He's wedged in the corner of the sofa like he doesn't deserve to take up space, and he looks up with a start when they walk in. Roy places the glasses on the coffee table as Ed stands, stopping with a bowed head in front of Cassie. 

"You're right. You're always right. I keep making promises and then breaking them...I don't mean to, but that doesn't make it okay. The wedding is important, _this_ is important. It's as important as alchemy is to me, I know that. I won't go to Donbachi."

"I don't want you to give up on restoring your passion, Ed, I swear. I just can't stand seeing you waste what you have now reaching for something you might never find."

Ed winces. Roy and Ed do not look at each other, but Roy knows they are both thinking the same thing; that brief description encapsulates Ed's entire life. 

"That's... I'm not going to be able to give it up. I can't promise you that." The crease between Ed's brows is deep. Cassie spears the wine cork with the corkscrew, twisting sharply. It pops open. "But I won't go to Donbachi on our honeymoon. It'll be just us."

Something isn't sitting right in Roy. Common sense tells him to keep himself out of this discussion, but his gut is twisting. 

"What is in Donbachi?" He asks before he can even think about stopping himself. Instinct, no matter how many times it has saved him before, be damned. Ed's eyes are sharp and bright. Roy regrets asking immediately. 

"Alchemy is tectonic, Alkahestry is the Dragon's Pulse. There's a skill in Donbachi that relies on the gravity of the moon, and the tides. You're supposed to train from birth, and most people aren't born with the skill for it, but if I go during the solar eclipse at the same time as the perigee, I should be able to tap into the main power source. Whatever it is. They're pretty tight lipped about it."

Cassie hands Roy his wine glass jerkily, ruby liquid curling up the sides. She was expecting him to have her corner. But he's not here to help her bring Ed to heel. 

He's not sure why he's here at all, though, all things considered. 

"And the eclipse is in a month?"

"Yes. It's alright, though. I can miss it. Most other options— well let's just say a lot of other stuff has been bogus, but I trust that there's something in this. They're pretty brutal about guarding it. But actually, waiting five years for the next eclipse will probably lower their guard towards-" Cassie slams the bottle of wine onto the table.

"You just said you weren't going to Donbachi! Seconds ago. Seconds to break your promise, almost instantly." She whirls round to pierce Ed with a knife-edge glare. Roy watches Ed take a deep breath in, wrestling his irritation. 

"I said I wouldn't go _on the honeymoon,_ I'm not just going to ignore the best lead I've ever had."

"The lead that got you sliced up, bones broken? Is this the same lead that brought that man into our house trying to kill you in your sleep?"

"Someone tried to murder you?" Roy interjects, aghast. Someone tried to take out one of the biggest names in Amestris and he hadn't even known?

"It was fine! It's not like I'm a stranger to that kind of thing, Mustang-"

"In five years, we could have children," Cassie stresses. "Will you make them targets while you're poking a sleeping bear?"

"I'm more than capable of protecting my own-"

"That's not the point, Ed! You shouldn't have to! They shouldn't have to live like that."

"Then we'll have children afterwards!" Ed's voice is raised but his body language is defensive and small. Roy thinks hard about his choices, and how he managed to end up here. There's a long silence that allows him to fully explore just how much he regrets that terrible decision. Cassie is livid, lips pressed thin. 

"I'm calling it off." Her voice is low and clear. Roy schools his features to calm. 

"W-what?" Ed stutters. 

"You're not ready to marry anyone. You're not even ready to start living a life of your own. You're just...running. God knows what from, but you won't stay still."

"Stop it. You're just being dramatic now, Cassie, and threats like that aren't fair." Ed's teeth glint in the lamplight, but the fear is visible in his eyes. 

"I'm not 'threatening' you, you massive fucking idiot. This isn't a tantrum. You're not ready. You can say you are until you're blue in the face, but you're shit-scared, and the idea of committing to something makes you run for the hills. This isn't drama, it's logic."

"I'm not running! Why does everyone always say that? I'm here, aren't I? And logic isn't calling off an entire wedding for one argument. This is a bluff, you wouldn't just throw away...everything..."

Very deliberately, Cassie turns from Ed and takes measured steps across the room. They both watch her, breath caught. Ed's eyes are wide and painful. In one fluid movement, Cassie upends the wine bottle in her hand all down the wedding dress. Deep ruby stains through the pure cream like a bleeding wound. Ed lets out a small noise of dismay.

"There. It's over. This wedding isn't happening." When she turns back round, the tears are running freely down her cheeks, skin splotched red. Her shoulders are shaking and wine is pooling on the floorboards. "I'm going to stay at Winry's," she announces, striding towards the bedroom. Ed reaches out for her arm desperately.

"Cass-"

"Don't touch me!" She shoves Ed back and he stumbles, knocking the table. Roy's flowers tumble onto the rug with a loud thud from the jug, water and petals scattering. 

Cassie doesn't stop. The bedroom shadows swallow her up. 

Roy meets Ed's eyes for only a second, and then Ed's hiding in his bangs, shame and frustration clawing their way across his face. There's a clatter as Cassie emerges with a small bag, shouldering on her coat. The tears are gone.

"I have keys. I'll call. Until then..." She loses the words. Giving up with a shake of her head, she opens the front door, and is gone with the sweep of it closing. 

Roy lifts the vase and places it gently back on the table. Silence wells up like a flood around their ankles.

"I really fucked up, huh?" Ed asks, voice hoarse.

"Yes, I think you may have done. Will she be alright?" Roy takes a step towards Ed, and then falters. 

"Who knows. She's...she's pretty strong. But I've got a knack for fucking people over."

"Have a seat, Fullmetal." Using that carefully impersonal title seems inappropriate, but Roy can't bring himself to cross that line between them with Edward's real name. Ed responds to the order, seemingly glad to have someone else chart a course for him. "I'm going to reception to phone Alphonse. He'll be at the lab, correct?"

"Yeah...yeah." Ed sinks into the cushions and seems to deflate. For just a moment, Roy gives in, and leans forward to gently squeeze his shoulder. 

"Look forward. It's worked every other time," Roy says lowly. Ed shakes his head, and falls into silence.

\--- 

The receptionist is helpful, but nosy, and hangs on every word. Roy decides discretion isn't worth the potential confusion. He hopes she enjoys the drama.

"The whole wedding?" Al's voice raises an entire octave. 

"Unfortunately, yes. She drowned the wedding dress in a tragically vintage red, and left with an overnight bag. I believe she intended to stay with you and Miss Rockbell." 

"And Brother just...let her go? Well, I suppose he would..."

"Why so?" Roy asks, perhaps a second too quickly. Al pauses. 

"They...haven't been doing very well for a while now. He thinks he's ruining her life, or some nonsense." Al sighs deeply. The phone line echo is eerily reminiscent of his voice in the armour, and Roy feels an unpleasant shiver run up his spine. "But, to cancel the whole wedding... I'll pack up, and be there in twenty minutes. Will you look after him until then, please, General?"

"Of course, Alphonse."

"Thank you...I'll be with you soon then."

"Yes. Goodbye." 

Roy loiters on the stairs. He isn’t sure what to say to Ed when he gets back to the apartment. He can’t tell him that everything is going to be alright; Cassie had been right about everything, for the most part. She certainly shouldn’t have to live her life in fear because of a reckless spouse. 

She isn’t used to it like Ed and Alphonse are. Like Roy is. That thought settles heavy in Roy’s stomach. 

Eventually he decides he can’t wait any longer, and lets himself back inside. Ed has a hand fisted in his bangs and is curled over a chair. 

“Alphonse is on his way.” There’s a moment of silence. Roy moves to take a seat opposite Edward at the table. 

“You can go,” Ed bites. He seems to catch himself immediately, pulling it back in. “Thanks for trying to help. But...I don’t…”

“I’ll stay until your brother gets here.”

“Damnit, Mustang, can’t you just keep your nose out of it for once?” Ed shouts, hitting the tabletop with a fist. Roy doesn’t flinch. He knows that this is defensive, and that Ed is waiting for him to leave before he falls apart. So he sits down. A tear, fast and silent, drips down Ed’s cheek.  
“Fuck,” Ed says quietly. 

Roy reaches for his hand, and grips it strongly. Ed returns to clawing his own hair, hard enough that it looks like it hurts. His shoulders heave, but his face ducks enough to hide his expression from Roy. Roy looks away for both of their sakes. 

 

They stay in silence the full twenty minutes until Al arrives. Family changes the tone; Alphonse’s love fills the apartment in a way that Roy could never hope to. He slips away with a polite goodbye and heads out into the sun again. The cheery weather annoys him. His empty house is unappealing. 

Running a hand through his hair, Roy turns towards his office and buries himself in work.

\-----

 

Two days later, Roy has accepted the task of getting Ed out of the house. And because he’s a useless, broken human being, they are drinking. 

Roy does not try to avoid the subject, or lighten the mood. Sometimes the best thing for the crawling restlessness and sharp-clawed thoughts is a good, long wallow, and someone to agree that you've been wronged. 

Ed would never be so ordinary as to blame another person, though. 

"It's not that I try to do this to everyone I love, it just sorta'...happens. You know? Does it ever happen to you?" He's slumped in his seat, eyes sliding across the reflections in the polished wood of the table. The glass in his lax hand is empty, but he tips it to see if there's anything else inside.

"Frequently. That is just part of being human, and making mistakes." The edges of Roy's vision have a blur to them. Ed's hair seems to glow, and it shudders in the low light when he snorts in response.

"Dun' think we can call stuffing Al into a sardine can for his whole teenage experience a fuckin' mistake, Mustang. It's not like I lost his jacket; I literally sent his body to the abyss."

"Two misguided, genius children trying desperately to get their mother back is not the same as two consenting adults finding their relationship coming to a natural, if tumultuous, end."

"Fuck, do you even hear yourself half the time? S'like I'm talkin' to a drunk thesaurus. 'Natural tumultuous end', my ass. It's not hard to jus' be nice to the person you love. And put them first. And just...not fuck them up. Like- like Gracia and Hughes. It should make you happy, to do that for someone. To live for them." Ed leans his chin sloppily on the palm of his right hand. The skin on that arm is smooth and golden. 

"Gracia and Maes were a special case. And I'm sure even they had to make compromises for each other, in private. Just because people don't share their hardships with you, doesn't mean they aren't experiencing any." Roy throws back the last of his whisky. It's watery and thin, diluted by the ice as Roy got distracted, as ever, by the tangle of trouble that is Edward Elric. Roy puts the glass down with a face of distaste. Ed's crooked grin awakens at it, but he makes no comment and it dies again quickly. 

"I can do it for Al. She's right. Maybe I just put all my love into him, and don't have any left for somebody else. And that's just...I mean, all that philosopher's stone search was just 'cause I can't deal with being alone. An' I didn't want him to leave me for fuckin' up so goddamn perfectly. Even that's jus' selfishness."

"That's not true. Your motivation may have been guilt in part, but guilt doesn't push you through all the horrible things you endured. Guilt doesn't make you sacrifice a limb, or your safety, or your freedom. Love is what's behind that." Ed shakes his head. Roy can see the headache behind his eyes.

"You're just like her. You've got a picture of me in your head, and it's wrong. I can't live up to it. Thought you knew better'n that by now." 

Roy probably is too much like her. But blind faith, for him, died in the sand and the beating sun long ago. His evaluation of Ed (the subjective one, not the one made by his stinking little heart and dark, desperate lust) is based on evidence. Ed is different to everyone else; fact. Roy might be quick to believe in Ed, in his inherent goodness, but he's watched it force Ed down the hardest roads so many times that it's pure statistical probability by now. 

"I'm not going to agree with you. From an exchange standpoint, the rest of the world sees your debt as more than paid; you gave double what you needed to, and would have given more. That's a breathtaking kind of love, but not the only type. You don't have to dedicate every fiber of your being to everyone that you keep in your heart."

"I should at least be giving her as much as she's giving me, equivalent-"

"Love is never equivalent. You can't control it; it isn't a mass or a volume, it cannot be measured. It's the opposite of an exchange, in fact. It's a sharing. A merging. It's not a trade. You don't lose yourself when you gain love."

Ed is scowling at him. Roy breathes deeply through his nose. He's supposed to be giving vague, man-to-man advice. That stereotypical 'sometimes people just don't click, plenty more fish in the sea' garbage until time scabs this nastiness over, but those golden eyes draw out all the weeping parts of him. And Ed mentioned Maes, and Roy should not have had those last two drinks, and it's too late now, because he's said it and Ed is too shrewd to have missed the true belief in Roy's words.

It's not fair, really, that the people Roy needs most in his life are the ones who cut straight through him.

Ed huffs and blows his bangs out of his face in a flutter of gold. A clumsy hand rubs at his eyes, and he yawns. They're lifting the stools onto the tables behind him. Roy meets the barkeep's eyes with a faint nod.

"We leavin'?" Ed asks as Roy stands. 

"They're closing. It's time you slept, anyway." Ed tries to shove him off when Roy wraps an arm around him to help him stand. Roy overpowers him with ease. Ed must have eaten very little to be so far gone. He seems smaller, thinner, in general. How long have he and Cassie been fighting? A deep-buried part of Roy thrums with a worry he can't stamp out, protective and clutching. He sickens himself.

Outside, the bite of cold is blunt. It's giving though. Spring is on its way. Out of the blue, Ed leans on him heavily.

"I don't...don't make me go home yet. There someplace else we can go?"

"Everywhere is closed."

And Roy will not take them back to his house, drunk and melancholy. He will not invite those thoughts. He will not stain the image of Edward into his sofa for him to lament over every time he passes the damn thing. 

"Can we just drive, then?"

Roy's car is dark and cold. Ed has already wrenched the passenger door open, and is dropping gracelessly into the seat. Roy shakes his head and closes the door after him. 

There's precious little space between them in the car, both a canyon and an arm's length. Roy slides in his keys with minimal fumbling and the engine's rumble fills the silence. He drives with nowhere in mind. Maybe they could go to the office? At the very least there are showers there, and beds in the break room. That wouldn't invite too much trouble, probably. And he behaves himself in a work environment; it's one of The Rules. 

The streets are deserted. There's that dead night-calm in the air, when nothing moves and the world is like a theatre set. Roy slices through the still darkness smoothly. Ed is quiet beside him. When he chances a look, Roy finds him sleeping, curled against the cold glass of the window. It would be the time to take him home, provided it was empty of angry fiancés. Roy doesn't want to drop an exhausted, drunk Ed right into the proverbial fire. 

So he drives, and drives. He finds himself taking to the back streets, and then eventually the little roads that lead out of the city. His wheels aren't going to thank him, but he doesn't know what else to do with the suddenly fragile-seeming bundle in his passenger seat. There's just the two of them in this rumbling box. If he concentrates, Roy can pick up Ed's soft breaths over the engine. His thoughts race through the evening, trying to remember everything he's said, if he gave anything away. Ed is both acutely intelligent and strangely sheltered. Roy might be lucky. 

Roy is rarely lucky. 

He very consciously takes the thoughts, squirming and screaming, that Ed was almost lost to him and has now miraculously been released back into his arms, and stuffs them deep into a box labelled 'No'. That is the first foot slide down a steep and unforgiving slope. Ed was never in his arms to begin with. Ed still isn't now. And if this engagement ends in heartbreak, it changes nothing in Roy's life. If a sweet and clever girl can reduce Ed to this, what would Roy's ugly, death-stained soul bring him down to? He doesn't want to find out. 

It doesn't matter that all roads seem to lead to Ed. It doesn't matter that he is the single most pig-headedly amazing human being Roy has ever had the pleasure of meeting. It doesn't matter that Roy has admitted, on several nights both sober and sodden, that he would give up almost everything, _everything,_ should Ed need him to-

But Ed doesn't need him to. Ed doesn't really need him for anything; they simply enjoy each other's company, use each other to remember what they've both come out the other side of, and then part ways. It's how they function. And Ed deserves to find someone kind and beautiful who can bring him some peace. Roy has always believed that. 

Ed deserves, at risk of sounding histrionic, a Gracia, in exactly the way that Maes did. And just as simply as the last time Roy's heart slingshotted itself into the air, that person is never, and can never be, him. 

His eyes are sandy. It's late enough now that the darker thoughts are sounding wise and knowing, and so very loud. His eyes keep flicking to Ed's curled form, and he forces them back to the road. The sun is rising. He hates that it means he'll have to relinquish this soon, and give Ed back to the greedy world. 

As he turns back into the city, the sky a milky pale, Ed flutters back to wakefulness with a noise of confusion. When their eyes meet, his face is split by an impish grin that rips Roy's heart into pieces.

"Sorry. Damn, I really suck at drinking. I guess getting legless is easier when you literally are, you know, legless."

"That's alright. I didn't know if you wanted to go back to the house..."

"Oh. Uh, she...probably won't be there. You didn't have to- I mean I'll be okay, to go back. You should probably sleep, you know?"

"Yes, I probably should." Roy musters up a watery smile for him, given that Ed seems to have dredged up some motivation from somewhere. It's good to see him smile, at any rate. Especially as the closer they get to Ed's place, the tenser the set of his shoulders becomes. He takes a deep breath when Roy pulls up in front of the apartment building. The car door does not open. 

"Will you be alright?" Roy prompts.

"Gonna have to be." Ed's shrug is still lopsided, years after shedding the metal and growing into his new arm. "Hey. Thanks. For givin' me your time, and all. Listening. Next set of drinks are on me, okay?"

Ed thumbs his nose and rapidly exits the car. The promise is ripe before Roy, and his traitorous heart lights up at the idea. If he's brutally honest though, Roy isn't sure he'll survive a 'next time'.

\---

Roy gets a phone call midweek. It starts with Ed trying pleasantries, which sounds, frankly, wrong in every way. Then the words melt away, and Roy demands Ed get to the point. Because Ed needs that, sometimes. Needs that last push.

"Cassie has agreed to meet me. We're going to talk. Don't tell Al; if I fuck this up again, I don't want him to know."

The call is mundane. Cheerful, even, at a push. Roy drags positive words into his mouth and forces them past his teeth. 

Eventually Roy puts down the phone and stares at his desk. This is what they all deserve, and him especially. Roy deserves to be alone and wretched. For every man, woman, and child he burned, he should suffer ten times over. 

He deserves this. And Ed deserves better. So why won't Roy's traitor heart let it go?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Alex for betaing!

On the day of The Meeting, Roy finds himself reprehensibly preoccupied. 

He should have no stakes on the outcome of Ed and Cassie's reconciliation. His heart absolutely should not sink at the idea of them working out their differences and reviving their ideas of marriage. It also shouldn't swell at the idea of Ed finally being happy again, forgiven and loved as he, frankly, should always be. Not that Roy is at all biased. 

Despite all of the things he shouldn’t do, he still manages to spend a good hour staring out of his window with a document in his hand, trying to force his brain to focus on his job. His mission. His life's damn work. It should be easier than it is. 

He's had three things sent back today alone for silly mistakes, and he's reminded again how lucky he is to have a team that care enough to spot such things and bring them back to him before his idiocy can undermine him. He's also lost an important permit, promised to call someone for whom he has no number, and spilled water all over some gilded certificates that have to be sent out with the post. They hang, dripping, on string, pegged like laundry around his office. 

"Sir?" He looks over a shoulder at the voice. Riza stands with a modest tray bearing sandwiches and a lonely-looking apple. Roy hasn't even flipped past the title page of this policy submission. Her keen eyes will certainly have spotted it already, but instead of the calm threats he's come to expect, he receives only a look of concern. He really must be falling fast if she's willing to be so familiar in the office. 

"Captain. Thank you." He drops the policy onto his desk, and runs a hand through his hair. 

"Your fourteen-hundred with General Stephens has been cancelled. However, the area where he's planning the refurbishments has been cleared for you. I recommend you take the time to survey anyway." She places the tray on his desk and casts an eye over his paperwork. Roy raises a brow. "If you take your lunch, sir, you will have time to survey and return with enough hours to complete this today as well."

He won’t be completing anything today, and they both know that very well. The area Roy needs to survey is an old palm house used for studying plant alchemy. There's nothing there except slowly breaking glass in white iron framework, and overgrown garden flowers. She is sending him there for a reason, and it irks him that he doesn't know what it is. 

"If you think that wise, Captain."

"Sir." 

So Roy takes the tray, and his coat, and heads for the door with his apprehension clear on his face. 

"Your next meeting is at four, sir. I will see you then."

Four hours. She wants him to leave the office for essentially the whole day. Is he so useless? Has he angered her to the point where she has to force him out to complete her damage control? He leaves with shoulders slumped, and his tail between his legs. 

The gilding of the sun on Central's slowly baking buildings, and the sweet birdsong twittering through the still air, do very little to distract him. Passing the admin offices and then the hulking form of Lab One, Roy weaves through the maze of warehouses until he hits green. Nature fights a war on the white, paved edges of the leadership buildings. The palm house, it seems, is one she has already reclaimed. 

The sun glints off broken glass panes, and here and there marble benches and statues poke up through rioting ferns. Specks of colour, reds and yellows and purples, are flowers flecked through the green. It's peaceful, and beautiful. Roy immediately grieves that it will be torn down. 

With one booted foot he clears some vegetation from a bench, and settles in to eat. The apple is tart. He scrunches his nose at it, but bites again.

When Ed gets back from his meeting with Cassie, he will either start to spend his time with her as he used to, or head back home with Alphonse. There's no real need to fear. Like as not Roy will barely even see Ed, and these crawling little feelings undermining his carefully-built life will simply have nowhere to go. He peels some crust from his sandwich and throws it to the birds. They fall on it, squabbling amongst themselves. It would never have been any different, this...situation. Not in any lifetime. Certainly, Roy is commanding. He takes care of his appearance and the universe pays him back with a pretty face and all of his teeth, etcetera. He's educated and eloquent, and has all the genteel manners a potential Fuhrer should hone. But that doesn't really lift him any further above the sea of unfortunates that Edward charms through his simple, honest existence. Roy is just another set of eyes lingering on those golden shoulders, and he knows it. And he shouldn't be entertaining thoughts of an engaged man over ten years his junior anyway, and he has a country to fix up, and crimes to pay for. He has a plan that Edward was only supposed to be a minor part of. A plan he's neglecting every time he stops to moon over terrible ideas and indulgent daydreams. 

If he's going to commit himself to his life and his refusal of these thoughts, he has to do his job. With a sigh he stands to survey the area.

Three rooms, various exotic plants that would need replanting elsewhere in the labs, a collection of distillery equipment, (dubious, if you ask Roy, but he writes it down none the less), and a collection of arrays that make absolutely no sense. A lot of old junk, in short. It's too hot to think, the sun magnified by the glass. Roy loosens his collar, and then shucks off his jacket entirely. It doesn't help much. Half way through categorising a collection of glass beakers he gives up and heads back out into the open air. 

The light breeze is just enough to revive him. He'd been dizzy for a moment, there. The last thing he needs is to be caught passed out by some general looking for a one-up over him. That palm house is damn dangerous in the summer. There's still a good two hours before Riza will allow him to return to the office; he could give this task to a subordinate, and go and spend his time in a cool cafe. But the chance that he might bump into Ed sets Roy's heart to pumping. What is he, a teenager? Besides, his team have work of their own; he employs no slackers. It's clearly been too long since he last got his hands dirty. He'll just have to tough it out.

Opening all of the creaking, crumbling doors, he leaves the palm house to air. Then he lays on a cool bench in the shade and tries to pretend he isn't a sweating mess. 

He'll rest a while, catch his breath, and then finish the job. And he won't think about Ed once until he's done with the whole thing. 

\---

Roy wakes with an ache in his back, sunburn on his forearm, and a prickle of suspicion down his spine. Eyes snapping open, he narrows down the feeling to its source, and wrestles his face into impassivity when he realises it's Ed watching him from under a tree. When their eyes meet, Ed flushes up to his ears.

"You're in my spot," he chokes out. Roy sits up and winces at the state of his spine. 

"You're on military grounds," Roy responds neutrally. He tries to summon a smile but isn't sure it quite reaches his face. Ed doesn't look too bad; there's no hysterics, tears, or black eyes. But there's a restlessness about him that makes Roy think the meeting went less than well. Ed looks around at the gently twining vines and the crumbling glory of the once-grand palm house, and then shrugs. 

"Didn't know. There's no signs or anything." He flops to the leafy floor to make his point, but there’s no real fire in his obstinance. 

"Well, I won't tell if you won't," Roy says, attempting some warmth. 

"Cool." Ed's voice is dead, like hollow driftwood. Roy swallows. 

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"...Not really. I don't even want to think about it. But mistakes stick in my brain, and you'll find out sooner or later.” Ed pauses. “We haven't taken the rings off yet, which is, you know. Whatever. But I think we're done. She's much better off without me bringing all my crap into her life. I don't— I feel like I should fight for her, like I'm letting her down if I don’t try to make something of it. But at the same time, it's totally the right call. I mean, I only ever made her scared and unhappy, and she cried, Roy. Why do I only ever make girls cry? I don't mean to, I swear I don't mean to-" 

Roy flows forward, knees sinking into the long grass and hand gripping Ed's shoulder. The knuckles of Ed's hands are pure white, skin stretched thin over the bone. Ed's hair falls, shuttering him from the world, and Roy wishes with a sick churn that Hughes was still alive. Ed deserves more than the biased, half-fumbling comfort that Roy can try and give him. He deserves a friend who doesn't respond to his grief with sudden, soaring, jealous joy.

"I know you don't. I know." Boy, does Roy know. Ed regrets everything he's ever done, and the guilt follows him on the air like cologne. 

"I tried to settle down. The apartment, the rings— we talked about kids. I think she knew that I panicked, but I would have done it. I'd have done it; a boy and a girl. I have names, and they'd have a dog, and I'd build a swing for them like the one Al and I used to have. I'd be around like Hoenheim wasn't...couldn't be. I want a normal life. But normal life just doesn't want me. There's always a shadow over my shoulder. Sometimes I wake up in the night and I swear I can see someone there in the room. I have to turn all the lights on and search the house. It wakes her up. So now I just don't sleep, until I have to. It makes it worse; I see things in the day. Our postman in Risembool resigned after I jumped him. He said all the dogs in the world couldn't scare him off, but I— and then, when I forced myself to ignore it and told myself it was all in my head, that damned Donbach kid tried to slit my throat. Normal...I can't do normal. I haven't been normal since I was ten." Roy's heart swells and clenches. God knows how much Roy contributed to that, to all the terrible, horrible things Ed has had to witness. It makes him sick. He wants to pull Ed in and wrap him up out of the reach of the world as much as he wants to hurl him as far away from his own bloodied hands as possible. If he could take things back, if he could take Ed's pain into himself now, he would do it. He would do a lot of stupid things. 

"You were braver than I would have thought possible then, and that bravery continues now, Edward." Stupid things like that. It's out before Roy can stop it, like a shield he's fumbled and dropped. Breath stills in his throat, and he counts the beats of the seconds. Ed says nothing. For a moment, Roy thinks Ed's pain is so great that the lack of formality has sailed over his low head. Then gold eyes rise to him, tired and anxious. Ed wears a weary grin. 

"S'a bad sign when you start gettin' personal. Been trying to get you to drop that shitty alchemist title for years." Ed's shoulder is tense under Roy's palm. At least the coat will absorb the sudden cold sweat. Roy moves his tongue, and forces the cogs of his mind to turn. 

"It's completely normal to have this reaction to a traumatic event." Roy's brain scrambles. Ed snorts. "...Events, then. We have doctors, there are a few I know outside of the military if you'd prefer—"

"I've tried."

"Sorry?"

"I tried that already!" Ed looks away from him sharply. "He didn't get it. Unless you've been there, you don't. You can't understand. And having to look after someone else at the same time...I'm glad Cassie is with Al and Win. Al can take care of her. I can't. And that's what it comes down to; that's what no doctor can help me with. I'm useless now. I can't do anything. And I thought that wouldn't be a problem, and, shit, I don't regret it. How could I regret it? I can't believe that damn deal worked. Every time I see Al smile, I'm reminded that I made the right choice. I'd never, ever take it back. But I can't live like this either. And it's pushing my luck, don't you think? To try and get alchemy back, to try and find another version of it. Having your cake and eating it too, that’s the warning I always heard. What if I do get alchemy back, and Al's soul just leaves? What if the Gate just opens up and swallows him? Sometimes, I dream it, I dream him coming apart again, and for a few months I'll give it up. But then the need returns, like a fucking addiction, like it's under my fucking skin—!" Ed's voice is rising in pitch, and his breaths are getting shorter and sharper with each leap he takes, one subject to the next. Roy clamps his empty hand on Ed's other shoulder and squeezes gently. 

"Stop now. Breathe. Look at me, and breathe." Ed's forehead hits Roy's breastbone with a thunk, Roy's advice ignored. His shoulders shake once.

"I'm trying. Every single day, I'm always trying. I swear." 

"That much is clear. But, sometimes you give a thing your all, and it's not enough. There's no shame in that. Don't let all your troubles stack on top of one another. We can try and solve them, one by one. We'll...start with the small ones." Roy is trying to be reassuring. He's trying to take control and chart a path. But Ed's head is burning on his chest. It's so close to an embrace, and yet so far. And he sounds like some blushing virgin, getting so burned up over something so simple as a hug, but it scrambles his brain anyway, no matter how foolish he thinks he's being. 

"None of 'em seem very small."

"Well, everything looks bigger to you, I suppose." There's a beat of silence, and then Ed hits him in the arm, finally lifting his head.

"Asshole."

"Couldn't have you thinking I'd gone soft, now." Roy pats Ed's shoulders and releases them regretfully. 

"So, what are these solutions of yours then?" Ed rubs his face once, wiping away any trace of emotion and returning to his natural state of grump. Roy suddenly feels too close, and rolls away to sit next to him instead.

"Well, some weapons training might help your paranoia."

"No guns."

"No, no guns. But perhaps something to replace the knife you used to make with the automail, and those garish spears. It will need to be smaller, of course. Maybe some kind of baton... Well, we'll work on that. But you can brush up on your hand to hand combat, in the mean time. Physical activity helps, and you'll know you can rely on your body to be there if you need it." Roy casts a glance over Ed's arms, still toned, but with the steady strength of farm work rather than the muscles of a fighter. He refuses to allow his eyes to linger.

"I guess." Ed plucks strands of grass from the ground, looking them over and then discarding them. 

"Time is all you can apply to your situation with Cassie. But I think you should talk to Alphonse about your pursuit of alchemy in Donbachi." 

"Yeah, probably. I've upset him by not talking about it with him, I've made it a bit of a sore point between us. He hasn't said anything, but I know." Ed sighs. "Can't fuck that up as well. Al's the one person I'm doin' okay with. Well, Al an' you."

Roy blinks at him for a beat. They both lock eyes, and get embarrassed at the same moment. Simultaneously they swivel to look in opposite directions. 

"So. Why are you out here skiving off your General duties?" Ed busies himself with trying to pin a newly selected blade of grass between his thumbs. His cheeks are pink, and Roy can't help but think it flatters him. Ed has settled back into a convincingly calm state again remarkably quickly. But there's no way he can possibly be recovered from all the emotional blows of the day. It's more like Ed's taken the stopper off an over-fizzing bottle, and then slammed it back in. The pressure is there, but buried deep. Roy remembers the feeling. 

"I need to catalogue everything here, and survey the site for a new building. Very tedious."

"So tedious that you decided to sleep instead?" Ed manages to rip the blade of grass. He selects another, and begins stretching it between his thumbs again. 

"...It got too hot to work."

"The Flame Alchemist got too hot? You're ridiculous." Ed's tone is cutting, and Roy scowls. He's still too warm. It reminds him of things he'd rather forget, but he pushes that thought away like it burns. Ed lifts the grass to his lips, and blows through the tiny hole between his thumbs. A high pitched whistle echoes, loud and clear, through the sky.

"What are you doing?"

"I could never do this with the automail. Me and Al used to do it by the river, when we were kids. Trains my fine motor skills." Another shrill whistle lances out and Roy immediately wants to try it. Maes would laugh at him. 

"How are you doing that?" Roy asks. Ed's smile creeps across his face like it's afraid to come out. He lifts his hands to show the grass whistle nestled there.

"You get a nice fat, flat piece of grass, and stretch it between the knuckles of your thumbs. If it's taut, and you get the right angle, then you just have to blow it right."

There is a tense beat of silence. 

"I have somewhat of a reputation for being good in that area." Roy allows himself a wide smirk. 

"Oh my god, shut up."

Roy raises an eyebrow, but then reaches out to pluck a good candidate from the grasses around them. Slotting it between his thumbs is easy; he's always had good hands. He lifts it to his lips and blows through the tiny gap. The result is a pathetic blustery noise that's closer to a raspberry than a whistle. 

Ed, of course, snorts a laugh at him. 

"Not even close," Ed announces. But then he takes pity on Roy's apparent lack of musicality, and takes his hands between his own.

Which should be nice. It should be pleasant, and maybe a bit exciting. But actually Roy's whole trunk bottoms out, like a trapdoor opens in him and drops ribs and lungs and sundry out onto the overgrown lawn. He sucks in a quick little breath. Ed pretends not to notice, and Roy wonders desperately what Ed thinks of his stifled reaction. 

"You gotta' give the grass tension. It's doing all the work for you, after all." Ed takes the grass and pulls it taut. His fingers on Roy's skin are cool and smooth, and a man over the hump of thirty-five shouldn't feel like Roy does about that. He's supposed to be mature, and to have himself figured out. He's not supposed to have his brain explode into diamonds just from fingertips grazing his knuckles. "Here, hold it. I'll keep it straight."

Such a sudden turn. Roy tries to fix his mind back on the palm house, back on reading Ed for how he feels about Cassie, but he's been swept away entirely. On autopilot he closes his fingers around the grass once more, and Ed's patient hands lift the grass flute to his mouth. 

"Blow gently," Ed instructs. His voice is quiet. The air is still and close, from more than just the heat. They've crossed a line somewhere. Something has changed, and has fallen into the territory of 'too close'. Roy knows he should pull back, for a whole host of reasons that won't quite come to him at that moment, but instead of moving away he leans forward and presses his lips to his own thumbs. Filling his lungs with air, he blows. Ed's eyes meet his as he does it, unwavering. Bronzed fingers close around Roy's paler, larger hands, and the whistle makes its high cheep. There's an intimacy to it that licks up the inside of Roy's breastbone. He's foolish and terrified and full of wishful thinking.

"Huh. It’s not so hard." Roy's voice is low, even to his own ears. Ed is wearing an expression that he's never seen. 

"Guess you're not as useless as you thought." Ed pulls back, hands finally parting from their grip around Roy's. His smile is small and sweet. The disappointment is almost a taste at the back of Roy's tongue. "Old dogs, new tricks, etcetera."

"Don't put me down just yet," Roy jokes. 

"Nah. You've got a job to do." Ed leans back against a nearby tree and stretches like a cat. Roy is mesmerised and he hates himself so much. He stands quickly despite the heat, resolve to finish his job welling up in him. Maybe he really is a terrible human being, but he's a damn good soldier and he'll focus on that instead of how the sun highlights all the gold in Ed's every cell. 

"I'd better finish. There's a lot to do." Clicking his back, Roy peers into the palm house and tries to find the place inside himself that is willing to tolerate the heat. There's a snort from behind him. 

"There's always a lot to do if you sleep outside instead of getting on with it. I guess I could help you catch up."

The offer is clumsy and out of character. Ed never did have any social grace. But Roy isn't heartless enough to turn him away when he clearly needs company, and Ed's strong back would probably be quite helpful. Roy is very careful with his expression as he turns around. He knows what he should say.

"That's generous of you, Fullmetal." That wasn't what he should have said. Not even a little bit. 

"Don't call me that. You used Edward. No take-backs, but I will permit 'sir' and 'Grand Master Elric' if you really struggle."

Roy shakes his head weakly as he steps into the palm house. Glass creaks under his boots. This is a terrible idea. Work and Edward never did mix. He's not allowed to think about this at the office; it's in The Rules. 

However...can this really be considered part of the office? 

Ed whistles and saunters in behind him. He stops to study a nearby fern.

"Never seen weeds like these before. What are they?"

"Honestly, I have no clue. In all likelihood I'll just end up disposing of them, and we'll never know."

Ed is only half listening to him. Roy wonders if he'll get any help at all, and then realises the only way he'd be more foolish would be if he believed that Ed would voluntarily expend effort for him; the long-despised ex-commander. 

"There's alchemy marks on these," Ed says warily. 

"Well, they were experimenting in here. It's a lab facility, technically. Transmutation marks are to be expected." Roy claws out a box from under a shelf of rubble. It seems sturdy. "Here, you can put anything that interests you in this. It would help my report immensely to have an idea of what was actually going on here, so if you can find anything out about it, I would be in your debt."

"In my debt? I like the sound of that." Ed drops his scrutiny of a leaf to turn the full force of his smug grin on Roy. 

"You seem to be forgetting a debt you already owe me."

"You get your cens when you hit Fuhrer, you miserly son of a bitch." Ed's words are harsh but he's smiling, the thousand-watt intensity of his attention swivelled to plants and apparatus. Roy leaves him to it and turns towards the paperwork mouldering in old cabinets. If he knows Ed, and he likes to think he's picked up on a few of the man's eccentricities over the years, then sinking his teeth into a new mystery will be the perfect way for him to calm down after The Cassie Conversation. And if he gets a few of the dots connected for Roy in the process, well, two birds, one stone. 

\---

The sun has started to set, painting red over the plants and refracting small rainbows off the broken panes. Roy jolts back to the real world from where he's become mired in reports. They're all alchemic principles far removed from the gases and molecules he specialises in. It's a foreign language; maybe he just doesn't speak plant alchemy. Even so, there's something familiar about it, a niggling thought, like he's catching movement out of the corner of his eye. It bothers him. 

Filing the instinct away for now, he pulls out his watch. It's later than it should be, and he’s been out of the office for too long. Riza is going to feed him to the dog. 

"Ah," he says diplomatically. "It's rather late. I'll have to pick this up again tomorrow." 

Ed hasn’t heard him. Surrounded by piles of reports and theses —organised by a system that Roy is certain he will have no understanding of— Ed is utterly absorbed in experiments of the past. He's been painted rose pink and sunset yellow, and his left hand curls subconsciously around the tip of his ponytail. 

Roy breaks the picture like he's dipped a toe in a perfectly still lake. One hand alights on Ed's shoulder, and gold eyes swivel to him. 

"I have to lock up now, Edward." Roy tries the name on his tongue, rolling it like a boiled sweet over his molars and coated over his palette. "The rest will have to wait for the morning."

"Can I come back?" 

Roy doesn't know what to make of that. 

"Only, this is pretty interesting, you know? It's got symbols I've never even seen, and I thought I'd seen them all. Hell, I invented a good few of them. " Ed shakes a report as he talks. Roy just releases his shoulder. 

"If you would like to. I will file some forms to say you're a consultant. Don't loiter on the base until I can get you a pass."

"They know who I am." Ed waves the reports more haphazardly. A page escapes and floats to the floor. Roy, an adult and a veteran and someone with great self control, takes a deep breath and thinks calming thoughts. 

"Be that as it may, meet me at the gates tomorrow. Nine."

"Sure." Ed hops to his feet, and Roy envies him his pure fluid movement. He's suddenly too tired, far too tired, and they still have to lock up and return to the office. Then he has to sleep, somehow, even after having his head stuffed to the brim with Ed and plants and traitorous thoughts. 

"Oi, Mustang, stop spacing."

"I'm not 'spacing'." Roy doesn't have the time or the space to argue. Ed ushers him out of the palm house and drags the decrepit doors closed behind them. He waits impatiently as Roy fishes out the key from his pocket, collects his jacket, and finally secures the entrance. Then he dogs Roy's heels as Roy turns towards the office. 

After a few steps Roy eyes him quizzically.

"Should I walk you to the gate?" It sounds chivalrous even though Roy is primarily frustrated. He realises belatedly that such chivalry is both wasted and inappropriate to use on Ed. They both pink a little. Roy's face feels warm and he doesn't like it.

"That's okay. I'm going to say hi to the guys in Investigations. You can go wherever."

"Understood. Then...I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah."

They stop and look at each other for a moment. It's times like these that really mess up Roy's head. He doesn't know what Ed is asking from him and his heart very loudly announces what it wants all this to mean. Abruptly Ed turns away from him and tosses a hand up over one shoulder. He still hunches, and he still sticks his hands in his pockets like he's ashamed of them. Roy can only watch him go. Turning back to his own building he doesn't know how he'll get through to day knowing that Ed is somewhere in the building again. This ridiculous situation was so much easier to manage when Ed was on the other side of the country. 

\---

As it turns out, Roy manages to put Ed from his mind just long enough to finish all his paperwork and send it out with a flustered Havoc. With luck all of it will end up where it needs to be before the day fully ends. Riza places a cup of coffee on his desk with a gentle clink.

"You know, it really isn't part of your job to make me coffee, Captain."

"Someone has to keep you going, sir." Riza's eyes are closed. He smiles at her, the one that only she gets from him, and takes a grateful sip. He almost chokes when she follows it up with, "besides, Edward is back. And you're infinitely more difficult to bring to heel when he turns up."

Roy coughs into his sleeve and glares at her. She is completely unruffled, picking up some stray sheets from his desk. 

"It's not my fault that those brats are trouble personified."

"They've been remarkably quiet this visit, and yet you still can't stop daydreaming. Sir." The 'Sir' is an afterthought, and she glares at him, utterly unapologetic about it. Roy takes a deep breath through his nose.

"Call it habit."

"If that's what you call it, these days. I was always taught that 'infatuation' was the correct term for it."

Roy's breath freezes in his lungs. Adrenalin shocks through him, like the floor just opened beneath him to reveal a hundred foot drop. He eyes her face, but there is no judgement there; just mild amusement. There's none of the disgust that he flings at himself in the mirror, and none of the disapproval that there probably should be. She watches his panic and doesn't offer to help him out of it. Typical. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Roy settles on, unoriginally. He shrugs and rubs his nose, knowing that she's fully aware of all his tells. She can think what she likes—she can't prove a thing unless he admits it. 

"Is that so? Well, I suppose it would be somewhat unorthodox. Ludicrous, even."

He winces. Like the sister he never had, she hurls her point right below the belt, aim as precise as ever. He grumps inwardly. Ludicrous? Hardly. He's the most eligible bachelor in the military. Women have lost jobs fighting over him, and men have lost wives. And that’s without him trying. That's just him being himself. That's just fact. Why would Edward Elric taking an interest in him be so unbelievable?

Even as he thinks it, he deflates. Because Ed knows what he's done. Edward is a hero of the people and Roy is the hero of a massacre. Never mind, he thinks sourly, that long ago decision to indoctrinate a child into the army and tease him mercilessly as he did so. 

But really, it's not Roy's fault that Ed was so hilarious when he was a kid. And it's not his fault that Ed has turned up again, now, with all the qualities that made people love the child polished to gleaming in the man. And an ability to see right through him. And the ass of the century. 

"You're doing it again, sir."

"Thank you, Captain."

Riza Hawkeye raises an eyebrow, which, at work at least, is about as close as she comes to outright laughing at him. 

"Stop panicking. It makes me feel young to see you like this." A new stack of papers are placed on his desk for the morning. Roy stands irritably and tucks his chair under. If Riza is leaving, then he's certainly not going to stick around. 

"We're practically the same age," he defends.

"And yet some of us grew out of puppy love."

"It's not 'puppy love'-"

"You're serious, then? He's engaged." Riza's tone remains casual. Like Roy might have forgotten and needs a gentle reminder. 

"Wha—No! I know that. It's nothing. I'm just distracted by this new division proposal. The Elrics are just another potential upset on top of that."

She rounds the desk as he pulls his jacket back on. Practised hands straighten the braid at his shoulder, making him look respectable. She pulls back when she's done to give him a once over. There's sweat under his collar. She knows everything, and nothing he says is going to make her forget it. Does she think he's even more sickening now? If she feels even a fraction of the disgust he feels for himself, then he's not sure why she's still here. 

"You are serious," she concludes.

Roy says nothing. She sighs and fetches his coat, holding it out to him like he's the guest of a five star hotel. She treats him like he's important to make sure he believes he is. He's desperate to know if she still believes he is, now. 

"Please be careful, sir."

She leaves before him, but pats his arm on her way out. He wants to curl up under the desk. He wants to stride out in front of a crowd and prove that he is still in control of something in his life. He looks down at his coat and shuffles to the door. Tonight will be a whirlwind of Riza's observations and the sunlight on Ed's hair, and he resigns himself to it. 

\---

Edward is late.

Approximately forty minutes, by Roy’s watch. Roy half wishes Ed would show up and half wishes for a call telling him that the Elrics have gone on an impromptu trip to Xing. The heat is equally oppressive, and outside the window is a cacophony of summer bugs humming their song. Roy slams down his pen.

"I can't work like this-" he begins. Riza interrupts him. 

"Edward is at the gate, sir. Should I let him up?" Riza is looking out of the window at the main parade grounds. What timing. Roy waits for her to say something else, hint at the conversation they'd half-had the night before. She doesn’tt. Ed trudges across the baking paving stones and Roy turns away. 

"No. I'll go down to meet him—we're finishing the palm house clearance."

"Yes, sir."

The stairs pass in a blur, the sound of his feet echoing loudly around the empty space. He wonders what he's doing. Logic tells him to go back to his desk, and order Ed to go on ahead. Ed's never done work for free before, and Roy could get so much work done, and not have to look into those goddamn liquid gold eyes...

The sunlight blinds him when he opens the door to the parade grounds. The soldier on guard there fumbles with his gun as he rushes into a salute. Roy waves him off. The heat rises from the white stone, and it makes Ed's legs wavy where he stands. 

"You're late," Roy barks.

"What, were you waitin' for me?" Ed drawls lazily. He slows in the sunlight, each one of his movements cutting corners. The summer suits him. All this occurs to Roy in a split second, and then he's using anger to cover up the sudden feeling of inadequacy. Having unfortunate feelings for Ed is something neither of them can do much about, but at the very least Roy shouldn't be made to feel bad for expecting Ed to turn up when he's the one who proposed the meeting. 

"We had an appointment," Roy states. 

"Yeah, yeah. I'm sorry. I didn't really...sleep. A lot." 

There are dark purple nebulas under Ed's eyes, made deeper by the shadow from his bangs. Suddenly Roy wonders if it's more than the heat making him slow, and floods with guilt. Letting his feelings get the best of him is why this stupid little crush is such a problem. Looking forward to seeing Ed; allowed. Getting irritated when Ed dismisses the meeting as unimportant; not allowed. Ed rubs an eye tiredly and shoots him a wavering smile. Roy resists the urge to usher him through the main building to the break room. Ed wouldn't have come if he didn't think he was capable of being here, or maybe he just wants to be here. And rein in those thoughts, Mustang, you're getting ahead of yourself. 

"Bad night?" Roy turns and starts walking. He doesn't check to see that Ed is following, but the lopsided footsteps closing on him are all he needs. 

"...I guess."

"It's okay to feel a bit fragile during a time like this." Roy's palms are sweating but he refuses to take them out of his pockets, because he's sure he'll forget what to do with them. They might take it upon themselves to move that one stray lock of hair from Ed's eyes, and then the jig will be well and truly up. Ed snorts.

"'M not 'fragile' Mustang. Geeze."

"It'll come back to bite you later if you don't process it now."

"Sounds like some head doctor bullshit."

"It is. It helped me, a few years ago." Roy doesn't look to the side, but he sees Ed turn to him sharply. It's not often that Roy reveals personal things about himself. The admission seems to have shocked both of them, but Roy doesn't find himself wanting to take it back.

"Yeah, well. If it gets any worse, I'll think about it," Ed submits quietly. Roy enjoys this truce they've found much more than their old, at-odds existence. After all the growing he had to do as a teenager, Ed is still finding new ways to mature. Honestly, Roy thinks, he shouldn't be surprised any more. 

They meet no one on the way to the palm house. It's exactly as they left it the day before. Just the sight of it makes Roy long for an iced drink, preferably of the stiff kind. 

"Are you actually going to help this time?" Roy quips, shucking off his jacket.

"Shut up. I help all the time!"

"Our definitions of 'helping' are different, I fear." Roy moves to open the doors. They squeak ominously as they swing outwards. Ed passes him to start opening the windows, standing on his tiptoes because apparently he just wants to drive Roy completely insane. It's hard to think of the messy, overly-loud, oblivious mess that is Edward as cute, but Roy's brain manages to find a way. As they say, where there is a will, etcetera, and Roy's will has been going strong for years too long. He unbuttons his sleeve cuffs and forces himself to look away. 

"Right! I had some theories last night but I have to check the plants. Something doesn't add up, there's a lot of bits missing. You sure this place hasn't been ransacked before?" Ed is inside in an instant, voice muffled by the glass between them. Roy's brain fights to catch up.

"There are a lot of broken panes, I suppose it's not completely impossible that someone made their way inside without permission." Roy steps gingerly over broken glass and heads towards his dirty boxes. Inside smells like earth and green. It's nicer than the office, at least. 

"Or they're coverin' somethin' up. Like usual." There's a crash and a clatter from Ed's direction, and Roy winces. "Oops."

"Are you alright?" Roy calls warily. 

"Yeah, I was totally right. Come in here!" 

Roy moves deeper into the heat of the palm house. The room Ed disappeared into is mostly plants, somehow thriving on their own. For a minute he can't even see Ed until the distinctive gold gives him away. 

"What is it?" Roy asks, moving towards Ed's bobbing tuft. When he rounds a large fern, he can see Ed standing on a pot trying to reach up into the metal rafters. 

"Hidden booty. Give me a leg up." Ed does not do, and has never really done, requests. Roy takes a deep breath and kneels, hands cupped. 

"I can't believe you just asked a general of the Amestrian Army to give you 'a leg up'."

"Yeah and I can't believe you're such a baby. Now hold still." They try three times to lift Ed high enough to reach whatever he's spotted. Roy's arms are sore. Ed might be small but he's still got an entire metal leg attached to him. And he's still thick-skulled, which must add at least ten pounds on its own. 

"This isn't going to work. Open your legs."

"The fuck're you-"

"Legs hip-width apart, Elric, it's too hot to argue. Do you want whatever's up there or not?" Ed grumbles, but opens his legs. Roy very, very carefully thinks of nothing as he moves closer. 

"Try not to pull on my hair," he instructs, before bending down and putting his head between Ed's legs. A gloved hand on either thigh, and the tense of Ed's muscles as Roy lifts...he must be a masochist. It's the only explanation. 

"Holy fucking shit give a guy some warning!" Ed clutches at Roy's shirt. It chokes Roy at the neck, but he endures until Ed can find his balance. "Fuck."

"Not used to being up so high?" 

Roy gets a swat to the head. He'll have to have words about physical violence in public, but all in all it's not as hard as he's come to expect from Ed. "Can you reach?"

"Just about. It's a box. Hold steady." Ed leans forward, pushing his weight against the back of Roy's neck and clenching powerful legs under each of Roy's arms. Roy stares hard at a straggly fern ahead of them.

"Do you have any idea how much you weigh?" Roy says, mostly to distract himself. It's not appropriate for him to say 'it's getting awkward knowing that your ass is on my shoulders', so he settles for complaining. 

"Calm down, you wimp, I almost have it."

"I can find you a stick if your arm span is lacking."

"Next time you want help with corrupt government officials, see if I bother turning up!"

"Maybe let's not reveal sensitive military information with such lackadaisical freedom—"

"Got it!" Ed practically throws himself from Roy's shoulders, and it's all Roy can do to stay on his own two feet. The brat, of course, lands gracefully, box in hand. Roy massages his own shoulder ruefully. 

"I hope it's worth the dislocation you just gave me," grumbles Roy as Ed excitedly turns the box. 

"Lock should be no trouble. Basic sealing array, there's an ink trap on it. That's fun. Doesn't stop me though." Dropping to his knees, Ed starts to draw in the dirt with a dead stick. He's quicker with the flesh arm; more precise. The movements of his shoulder and wrist are almost hypnotic. "Here."

The box is suddenly underneath Roy's nose. He’s knelt on one knee by Ed's strange circle, and Ed is looking at him expectantly. He shakes the box a little. 

"Can I help you?" Roy asks.

"Yes, dumbass. Here, this one neutralises the ink. That way when you bust the lock and activate the trap it won't matter."

For a moment Roy just considers Ed flatly. Then, with some apprehension, he slips off his gloves and tucks them into his breast pocket. It's no mean feat to perform alchemy in front of, arguably, the best master of the science in the world. Roy tries not to look nervous as he scans the array on the ground. Instead of placing the box in the middle of the circle and activating Edward's array, Roy touches his palms together and places one hand on the top of the box. The lock clatters to the ground, and a clunking noise grinds from inside the box. Ed looks pleased with him for a moment, and then is immersed in the box and its secrets. 

The contents are, as with most things nefarious and secret, only unassuming sheets of white paper covered with the neat print of typewriter letters. Reports, dating back just under a decade. Bradley's rule. The symbol from Roy's watch, the crest at his neck, the stamp that Riza puts over his name on every report, glares at them both like damnation. 

"Well, what does it say?" Asks Roy. He has no illusions that he could ever try to read as fast as Ed. Golden eyes are already speeding over type. 

"It's just rubbish. But I bet it's a code. The military was always evil, but rarely stupid." 

Roy feels that tiny rock of a comment hit the back of his rib cage, clattering to sit in his sternum on a pile of other, similar ones that he's thrown there himself. He pretends it isn't there. 

"I'll start on the other room then."

"Hm." Ed is lost. Roy won't be getting him back in the next few hours. He takes himself and his bruised feelings into the main palm house, and resolves to get some work done. 

\---

Moving plants and generally working up a sweat seems to be a good way to get over annoyingly persistent emotions. By the time Riza gets the skip sent down to the palm house, Roy has already moved half of the pots out into the baking sun. Their terracotta bases are all russet and sap-stained, whilst the browning, ragged leaves of their long-dead inhabitants hang over the sides listlessly. His head is pounding, but he wipes his forehead and drinks more water. He got headaches in the desert too, body not built for heat. Ed hasn't come out of the tiny office even once. Roy can only assume he has little problem with the temperature. 

Heaving the pots, he drops them to smash in the bottom of the skip. His hands are sticky with sap. His trousers are probably similarly stained, and he bemoans the need to order new ones. The military tailor is a sour-faced dog of a man, and he likes to make anyone who heads in for a fitting as uncomfortable as possible. Still, Roy finds himself humming as he lifts a box of whatever onto one shoulder and saunters back out into the light. He feels almost floaty. Maybe time out of the office really is good for him. 'Out' being nature-based and not various bars for information or theatre trips with faux dates. He feels light. 

Movement in the window draws his eye. He waves through the clouded glass at Ed, who no doubt can hear him and probably finds it hilarious. A general cleaning out a glorified greenhouse is fairly ridiculous already, so Roy isn't all that concerned. Instead of laughing, though, Ed ducks down like Roy caught him with his hands in the proverbial cookie jar. Roy shakes his head fondly and turns back inside. 

The main room is looking empty. The towering palms that have managed to take root and survive on their own, he won't be able to do anything about that unless he burns them. The rest is mostly a soily mess of glass and leaves. In the corner are the shelves and cabinets that Ed had been going through before. Absently, Roy opens the nearest one and paws through. Papers, and ransacked ones at that; any order they once had has been long lost. The next is a glass-fronted cupboard with dodgy looking specimen jars lined up inside it. The fluid they hang in magnifies them: gnarled roots and branches that look like hands; half formed bugs and insects. The dusty inscription above the cabinet says 'Antidotum', and Roy makes a very hurried mental note to keep an eye out for snakes. 

"It's those stupid botany books!" Ed bursts into the room, stripped down to his vest and hair sticking to his face. He waves some of the loose pages from his mysterious box.

"You'll have to expand," Roy follows up easily. He smiles widely and Ed seems to stop for a minute, a falter in his step. He gives Roy a strange look, undecipherable, and then frowns. 

"The cipher. To crack the code. I wondered why they'd have those shitty volumes here when everyone knows they've been debunked a thousand times over; they kept them as a code system. I'd stake my life on it."

"I think your life has been staked quite enough times, now. I'll believe you without any of that."

"Are you alright, Mustang?" Ed is suddenly very close, and Roy's not sure when he moved. It's easy to dance out of his way, though. 

"Perfectly. You'd better get on with cracking that code. I'm almost done with this room and then I'll stop for the day, and I know you don't want to be wondering about this mystery of yours all night." Roy lifts a beaker and flips it in the air, catching it deftly in his left hand. It's much easier to do things without gloves on. He wishes he didn't need that safety blanket, the comfort of ignition cloth against his wrists. 

"You're red. And blotchy."

"We can't all react to heat with a glorious golden tan, you know. Us mere mortals are slaves to the body's systems."

"God you're such a weirdo." Ed turns to leave, but he gives Roy another concerned look over one shoulder. "Take a break if you need to, okay? Old men shouldn't be lifting so much. After all that desk work, your arms probably aren't used to it."

"Brat."

"Bastard." 

Roy has another swig of water just in case, but he feels light. He looks at his reflection in some cracked glass, and doesn't even worry too much about looking like a sweating, pink-tinged mess in front of his young crush, hero of the country, miracle worker legend wunderkind. He uses the broom to make some random patterns into the spilled soil, and then sweeps the floor until it's sparkling. 

"It's weird that we still hang out," Ed suddenly announces. The red of his coat hangs over the edge of a chair, and looks startlingly like blood.

"Well, I suppose. I like to think that our relationship has reached a healthy plateau, and that we can call one another a friend. It's not so strange for friends to spend time together." Roy wobbles a little, but he rights himself, and places the broom against the wall. It slips but he catches it just in time. 

"You think after you trick a child into the army and send him to face his own death every couple of months that you can claim friendship from him?" The golden glare is piercing. Roy finally gets the broom to sit still even though the wall looks like it's slanting backwards. 

"That's...I suppose not. The military would have found you sooner or later. Father would have as well. I— that doesn't absolve me, of course, but—" Sweat drips down Roy's back. Ed's voice seems to come from behind him. He's moving absurdly quickly again. Roy will have to have words about slowing down in front of your superior officer...but of course, Ed quit the military years ago. He's still here though. But he doesn't want to be? Roy's headache makes it hard to think. 

"It doesn't absolve it. Nothing does. Not really." The barbs hit him in the heart, like tiny needles straight through the ribs. Roy gasps a short breath through his nose. 

"You don't have to stay. There's nothing holding you here any more."

"Nothing? As if. It's you," Ed insists. "You call, or you send a book. Or you find tickets to some concert sold out ages ago that Al just happens to be interested in. Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"I don't—"

"Do you think I don't know? You're disgusting."

"I'm sorry, —"

"Mustang?" Somehow Ed is behind him, in the doorway of the office. There's ink on his vest. "Who are you talking to?"

"You. I was talking—never mind."

"I'm almost done, and then we'll go, okay?" Ed's voice is too loud. Roy waves him off and sinks onto a little wooden bench. 

"Of course. You don't have to be here. I'm not...not keeping you here."

"Alright, geeze. I'll be quicker." Ed disappears again into the main office room. Roy idly thinks about heading outside to burn the contents of the skip, but it feels like his whole soul is on the floor. He feels sick. Of course, Ed has every right to hate him. Roy just thought, maybe, in Ed's seemingly endlessly large heart, he'd found a way to forgive Roy. Maybe Ed was the only person who had ever forgiven him. Roy had thought he was, in some small way, a part of Ed's life. Stupid feelings or no, they'd done great and terrifying things together. He'd watched Ed grow—

"And that's why you're so fuckin' gross. Like I'd ever want some old murderer. I've seen what those hands do. I couldn't stand you touching me."

Ed, behind his shoulder. Looking at him with revulsion. The glass behind him is melting, the heat of Roy's fire reducing it to a blackened puddle oozing down the metalwork. It catches on the red Ed's coat, and the flames spring up immediately. Before Roy can reach out, bile fills his mouth. He leans over the side of the bench and vomits onto the cracked tile. Panicked, he turns and clicks. Fires are his, he can suppress them. It's just a matter of the oxygen levels—but he claps and the flames rise higher. Ed doesn't move, just stares through the flames like he can't even feel them as they burst up and consume his clothes and the golden fall of his hair. 

"You're going to die here. And you'll deserve it, this kind of pitiful, lonely end."

Roy throws up again, stomach spasming. His feet are half-buried in sand. Through the fine grains he can see the sparkle of ruby red; thousands of philosopher’s' stones glinting in the sun. He doesn't even try to reach for one, instead gripping the arm of the bench as his stomach empties itself with enough force that it feels like his whole gullet is coming up with it. 

When the spots come, bright colours on the back of his eyelids, he barely registers. His body has resorted to dry heaving, all of his contents on the floor in a pile of guts and stomach acid. It's only when the blotches start to turn to black, and the darkness creeps in at the edge of his vision, that he starts to feel the terror. He's been here before, he's lived this. The darkness...nothing is like the darkness. He can't do it again. 

He tries to stand but the ground surges up to meet him. His knees only start to hurt when he tries to get up again, and he realises he must have landed on them. He fails to get to his feet, body shaking so violently he can hardly put his palms flat on the floor. 

"-stang! Roy! Come on!" Hands on his shoulders. There's a stinging sensation in his cheek, and he's suddenly looking in a different direction. The glint of Ed's hair catches his eye, and he focuses on it, trying to stop the world from spinning. Ed props him against something, and then he's gone. 

Roy's whole world is blurs and spinning, and the darkness is creeping closer like a drawstring bag over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me! I know this fic is a little...weird. Haha.

**Author's Note:**

> This WILL end up being Royed. No really. I didn't want to shaft Winry so I put an OC in, but I felt just as bad fucking over Cassie, so we got a whole extra first chapter instead of juST SOME GOOD OLD SEX.


End file.
